


Kissing Day

by sanguinity



Category: Strange Empire (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Kissing Day, and Kelly has decided that it's high time that some things got fixed. Doc Blithely is just the person to do the fixing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evewithanapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/gifts).



> Very slightly AU from the series, in that the final cliffhanger never occurred, and thus Jeremiah Loving’s fate is still unknown.
> 
> The story is meant to be upbeat, but _Strange Empire_ being what it is, **warning** for discussions of bounty hunting and grave robbing, along with brief mentions of a vivisection and a rape.
> 
> Thank you to my betas, grrlpup, beanarie, and autistic-romana! Any errors that remain are of course my own.

“Bottle to the head,” Sheriff Loving announced, hauling the fourth injured miner of the evening through Rebecca’s door. It was barely gone midnight, and the party was in full swing outside; Rebecca’s crib was fast becoming an infirmary. Kelly and Robin quickly cleared a space for the new man, as Rebecca put down the vomit-filled basin she had been in the process of changing. The sheriff unlooped the injured man’s arm from around her neck to ease him down, and then staggered when his weight pulled her off-balance. He groaned at the sudden change in position. “He’s not too bad off,” she continued in disgust, once he was settled. “It’s mostly drink. I was half-inclined to leave him to sleep it off, but…”

“He would be dead of exposure by morning,” Rebecca said, seeking through the man’s hair for the source of his bleeding. His clothes were full of snow, already melting in the warmth of the crib. “Kelly—” she directed, but the girl had the whisk-broom in hand, brushing away the worst of the snow as she had with two of the men previous.

“Not fair to you, though,” Mrs. Loving said, “you having to take on the consequences of their irresponsibility.”

Rebecca shrugged. “I am a doctor.”

“You make sure they pay,” Mrs. Loving admonished. “Don’t let them impose on you.”

“He will not need stitches,” Rebecca decided. “Just a bandage and someplace warm until he regains consciousness. And someone must see that he does not choke on his own vomit.”

Robin and Kelly both made noises of disgust at that. Their mother gave them a sharp nod. “This is what comes of drink,” she said to them.

“We _know_ , Ma,” Kelly said, aggrieved.

“As if we could forget,” Robin muttered unhappily.

Rebecca grimaced, images of Kat Loving with a noose around her neck interfering with her ability to focus on her task.

Abashed, Mrs. Loving put an arm around her daughter. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she said, dropping a kiss on Robin’s head, “you’re good girls.” Robin squeezed her mother back. Kelly rolled her eyes at them, and got pulled in for a hug, too. Rebecca smiled at the three of them, and turned away to get bandages for her patient.

Yet another burst of gunshots and shouting broke out in the yard. All four women went still, listening, then breathed again when a cheer went up. Mrs. Loving shook her head and stepped to the door. “If you’ve got time tomorrow, Mrs. Blithely,” her look indicated Rebecca’s patients, “the girls and I would be much obliged if you called on us.”

Rebecca glanced up, startled at the sudden formality. “I... of course,” she stammered, caught off guard. In the usual order of events, Rebecca and Mrs. Loving were in and out of each other’s cribs as circumstance and whim took them, with no use or need for invitations. “I expect I will be free by late afternoon. I do not think any of these will need my attention once the whiskey wears off.”

Mrs. Loving nodded, still serious. “Then we’ll pray for no worse tonight,” she said, and with no further explanation, went back out into the tumult, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Rebecca looked to Kelly and Robin for clarification. Both girls grinned back at her.

“It’s Kissing Day,” Kelly announced slyly.

“Kissing Day?” Rebecca asked, eyebrows high.

Robin’s expression was merry. “Ma’s been cooking for _days.”_

 

Rebecca was in a nervous dudgeon all the next morning, unrelieved by the bustle of seeing to her patients as they roused. Try as Rebecca might, neither girl had seen fit the night before to explain what ‘Kissing Day’ precisely was. As Rebecca’s anxiety mounted, Kelly had finally taken pity on her and admitted, “We don’t rightly know. She won’t tell us, neither. Ma’s eager, though. Don’t show it much, but she is.”

Rebecca nodded, her anxiety wound a little tighter by the prospect of Mrs. Loving _caring_ about this social call, whatever it was.

Robin took Rebecca’s hand. “It’ll be all right, Doc Blithely. We promise it’ll all go smooth, we’ll see to it, won’t we, Kelly?”

Rebecca smiled, momentarily bemused by the girl’s earnestness. She squeezed Robin’s hand. “I’m sure it will be fine,” Rebecca told her, unwilling to see Robin upset on her behalf. And it _would_ be fine: Rebecca could dissect a cadaver, sew up a gunshot wound, and birth a breech baby. She had hopes she might one day restart a man’s heart, with the right equipment. She was a grown woman, married and widowed, and Janestown looked to her for its healing. Whatever Kissing Day was, she was capable of rising to it.

But as the hour approached, Rebecca’s confidence grew thinner, and in the early afternoon, Kelly dropped in to see if Rebecca needed help urging the last of her barely-ambulatory, still-sobering drunks out her door. “You still coming, right? Ma wants you there awful bad,” Kelly said, and Rebecca’s nervousness ramped up to earlier levels again.

She needed advice.

“Kissing Day?” Ruby Slotter asked, eyebrows sky high, in the foyer of the Slotter mansion. “Sounds like some kind of heathen thing. And I’m surprised at you, coming around here asking for a hostess gift for that woman, after all Kat Loving’s done to this house.”

“My mother, Emily, was always insistent that one should not arrive empty-handed at a social call—” Rebecca explained.

“Can’t fault your mother’s manners, anyway,” Ruby sniffed.

“—but I am at a loss as for what to bring. It is January, there are no flowers to be had, and whisky is not an appropriate gift because Mrs. Loving does not partake of alcohol.”

Ruby sniffed again.

“I cannot ask Mrs. Briggs for advice, because she and Mrs. Loving are friendly, and I do not know if Mrs. Briggs is invited. If I speak to her, and she is not invited, her feelings may be hurt. Whereas your feelings will _not_ be hurt, because you and Mrs. Loving are not friends.”

“So you came here _because_ there’s no love lost between that woman and me.” Rebecca nodded, and Ruby sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s sense in it. Like most what you do, however strange it is for the looking at it.”

“I can pay,” Rebecca insisted. “I am not asking for charity.”

Ruby led her through to the kitchen. _“You’re_ a friend of this house, even if that woman isn’t. And those children of hers’n deserve a little good luck in the New Year, even if their mama don’t. Although goodness knows, maybe if that woman had a little less misfortune in her life, she wouldn’t be so quick to spread it around to everyone else.” Ruby continued to talk to herself as she shooed the cooking girl out of the way and filled a small pot from a larger one on the stove. Eventually, with a small flourish, she set down a covered basket in front of Rebecca, the small pot inside well-bundled with toweling. “I’m doing this for _you_ , mind, not _her_. Black-eyed peas, for luck in the New Year. You make sure you have some, you could do with some luck as much as any of us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Slotter,” Rebecca said, taking up the basket.

“Now go on with you,” she scolded, “don’t want that getting cold. And a Happy New Year to you, Doc Blithely!” she called, when Rebecca was half out the door.

Rebecca turned back into the kitchen, stumbling on the doorsill in her haste. “Happy New Year, Mrs. Slotter!”

 

Rebecca was stamping the snow out of her skirts on the Lovings’ porch when Robin opened the door. “Oh, you came!” she said, delighted. _“Ma! She’s here!”_

“I said I would.” Rebecca was somewhat hurt that her word had been doubted. She held out the basket. “Black-eyed peas, for luck in the New Year,” she recited.

Robin took the basket, then ducked around her mother to take it inside.

“That from Ruby Slotter?” Mrs. Loving frowned. “I’m surprised she’s forgiven me so quick for killing her boy.”

“She has not,” Rebecca said. “She said she was doing it for me, not you, but that even you deserved luck in the new year.”

Mrs. Loving laughed. “And so does she. You can even tell her I said so, if you want.” Abruptly, she stepped forward and reached for both of Rebecca’s hands.

Startled, Rebecca drew back.

Mrs. Loving stopped where she was, then held her hands out, palms up and open, waiting for Rebecca. After a moment, Rebecca put her hands into Mrs. Loving’s. They were warmer than her own.

 _“La bonne année,”_ Mrs. Loving said. Watching Rebecca carefully, she leaned in from one side to kiss Rebecca on the cheek. When Rebecca didn’t protest, Mrs. Loving leaned around to kiss her on the other cheek, and then, after a moment’s pause to see if Rebecca would pull away, Mrs. Loving kissed her square on the mouth. It was a brief kiss, dry and warm, but long enough to be meant. Rebecca went still, considering the sensation of Mrs. Loving’s lips on her own. Robin giggled.

“For luck in the new year,” Mrs. Loving said with a smile, before drawing back and dropping Rebecca’s hands.

Through her sudden shyness, Rebecca abruptly remembered the manners Emily had taught her. _“Et bonne santé,”_ Rebecca murmured, finishing the greeting.

Mrs. Loving cocked her head in surprise and grinned. She reached behind her and drew Kelly forward. _“La bonne année,”_ she whispered in the young woman’s ear, and gave her a little push toward Rebecca.

Kelly stopped stiffly in front of Rebecca, and then formally thrust out her hands at her, like a boy being made to ask for his very first dance. Rebecca took them. _“La bonne année,”_ Kelly said soberly, and then awkwardly kissed Rebecca on both cheeks and pecked her on the mouth.

 _“Et bonne santé,”_ Rebecca returned. Kelly gave her a sober nod and stepped away.

It went more smoothly with Robin, partly because Rebecca had learned the rhythm by then, but mostly because Robin was too affectionate to feel self-conscious.

Inside, the small space had been decorated with brightly colored pom-poms and ribbons. The stove and side table were both heavy with food, far more, Rebecca suspected, than they would be able to eat.

“Where is Neal?” Rebecca asked, wondering if she would be expected to kiss the boy, too.

“He went back to bed,” Kelly volunteered with malicious glee.

“Too much drink with his friends last night,” Mrs. Loving said darkly. With a conspiratorial glance at Rebecca, she raised her voice to a shout. _“Hey, Neal, how you feeling?”_ She banged the crib door open and shut twice, hard.

From behind the curtain hung across the back of the space, there was a groan of protest.

Rebecca couldn’t hold back the laughter. “That is cruel, Mrs. Loving.”

“Boy made his bed. He can have the courage of his convictions and lie in it.”

“We got presents this morning!” Robin announced to Rebecca, taking her hand. “When you’re Métis, you get to have Christmas twice!”

“When your father is Scots and your mother is Métis,” her mother corrected,“you get to have both Christmas and Ochetookeskaw.”

“Kissing Day,” Robin explained happily, although Rebecca had understood as much already.

“Has there been no word of Mr. Loving?” Rebecca asked.

Mrs. Loving shook her head, her good mood draining away instantly. Both Kelly and Robin looked unhappy, too, and Rebecca belatedly realized her misstep. She floundered for something to say, something that might restore their good spirits. Jeremiah Loving might yet prove to be as exceptional an individual as his wife, but with Thomas’s death, the number of known adult male survivors of John Slotter’s raid stood at zero. The balance of probabilities, combined with the long months of silence since the raid, made it difficult to believe that Mr. Loving had survived.

And yet Hope still clung to the Lovings, just as Morgan had described it. Hope clung to them, whether they would choose it or no.

 “His body has never been found,” Rebecca said.

It was meant to be encouraging, but all three Lovings glanced away. “No, it has not,” Mrs. Loving said, and Rebecca wondered if Mrs. Loving put as much store by a proper burial, physically proximate to where she lived and worked, as Mrs. Briggs did. Rebecca searched for something further to say.

“Ma, I’m hungry,” Kelly whined. To Rebecca’s surprise, Kelly was looking at her sister, not her mother. She nudged Robin with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Robin chimed in, after a quick glance at Kelly, “You’ve been cooking all day and not let us hardly have nothing.”

Kat Loving looked up from her reverie, her glance taking in the hopeful faces of her daughters. “Of course,” she said, trying for a smile. And then, more firmly, lifting a hand to stroke Kelly’s hair, “Of course you are.” Her smile was more genuine this time, and included Rebecca. “We have a whole feast here, needs eating,” she said, suddenly business-like. “Robin, you see our guest settled, and Kelly, come help me with these.”

 

The dishes were a mix of familiar and unfamiliar, although there was never anything completely alien to Rebecca.

“Bullets and bangs,” Kelly announced proudly, bringing a steaming plate to the table.

It was meatballs in gravy, with a fried bread to accompany them. Rebecca frowned, minded of the French that had punctuated Mrs. Loving’s speech throughout the meal. _“Boulettes et beignes,”_ Rebecca overpronounced, so that Kelly could hear the difference.

With a frown, Kelly looked to her mother.

“I reckon she said exactly what she meant to say,” Mrs. Loving said. She looked up at her daughter. “It’s a pun. _Boulettes et beignes,”_ she indicated each food in turn, her pronunciation somewhat twangier than what Rebecca had been taught by her Parisian governess. “ _Bullets and bangs_. It’s not meant to be Mission-school French, Mrs. Blithely. _Piikishkwawn en Cree.”_ When Rebecca shook her head, Mrs. Loving translated, “I speak Cree.”

“But it was not Cree, it was French,” Rebecca insisted. “I heard it distinctly!”

“Michif Cree,” Mrs. Loving shrugged. “ _Ninêhywawân_ too, but not nearly so well.”

Rebecca leaned forward, her meal forgotten, and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Loving. “Speak some more.”

Mrs. Loving glanced at her daughters with a sly smile. “ _Un ors awa sa awayna-tani-_ _kwaashkwaypichikay_ _-t.”_

“A bear...” Rebecca began, frowning in concentration.

“Who wanted to go fishing,” Mrs. Loving finished, miming the motion of a fishing rod. “ _Kwaashkwaypichikay_.”

Rebecca nodded. “Go on.”

Mrs. Loving made her way through the story, acting out the travails of the bear who had no fishing rod. She occasionally supplied the translation of a word, but mostly allowed Rebecca and the girls to work it out for themselves. Rebecca was far quicker than Robin and Kelly, having the advantage of the French and a better ear for the Cree. By the time Mrs. Loving had stood and pushed her chair aside, to give herself the space to better mime the bear lowering his tail through the hole in the ice, both girls had given up the effort of translating, leaving the work to Rebecca. Instead, they elbowed each other while sneaking their mother shocked glances.

“Didn’t know your mother knows how to tell a story, did you?” Mrs. Loving asked them, breaking character for a moment. Then she squatted down and waggled her hips, the bear settling himself for a long wait on the ice, and both girls erupted into a frenzy of smothered giggles. Mrs. Loving wiggled her hips once more, then went on to describe, in word and gesture, how very freezing cold the water was.

“...and that is why the bear has no tail!” Rebecca exclaimed in triumph, when Mrs. Loving reached the end of the story.

“And that is why bears have no tails,” Mrs. Loving agreed, pulling her chair around again. She shook her head at Robin and Kelly, who were still giggling together. “Eat up, the meal is getting cold.”

“Mr. Darwin would disagree,” Rebecca said. At Mrs. Loving’s quizzical look, Rebecca elaborated, “About why bears have no tails. Lamarckian inheritance is entirely disproved. If one removes a man’s arm, it will have no effect on the number of arms his children are born with. It is a ludicrous theory, one we have all seen disproven many times over. And yet Lamarck’s theories, and your story as well, are entirely dependent on that idea.”

Mrs. Loving considered that for a moment. “So tell me about your Mr. Darwin, then,” she prompted, and Rebecca did.

As Rebecca had expected, there was far more food than the four of them could eat, or even the five of them, if Neal were to have joined them. “No matter,” Mrs. Loving said, as she served blueberry soup around, which she promised them was the final course, “in this weather, it’ll keep. And there are friends to share it with between now and Kings Day.”

Robin leaned across the table to Rebecca. “It was good of you to come,” she said. “Ma gets real homesick sometimes.”

“I’ll thank you to let a body do her own talking, Robin,” Mrs. Loving said.

“Is your family far away, Mrs. Loving?” Rebecca asked. “Perhaps when the weather breaks, it would be possible for you to visit—”

“Can’t,” Kelly interrupted flatly. “Ma’s got a bounty on her head.”

Everyone turned to look at Kelly.

“What?” Kelly said. “Just because you like to pretend it’s not true, Ma, don’t make it so.”

“Mrs. Loving?” Rebecca asked, turning to her for an explanation.

Mrs. Loving pressed her lips tight and shook her head.

“‘One thousand dollar bounty for Katerry Dumont—’” Kelly recited, her voice slow and deep, obviously mimicking someone.

“Hush now,” Mrs. Loving said. “Plenty in this camp that would be happy to be rid of me without needing a bounty to encourage them.”

Kelly glared at her mother. “Only Doc Blithely here, and she’s family, you wouldn’t have invited her if she wasn’t.”

Rebecca blinked at that, but put it aside for later consideration.

“Ma killed a surveyor in Red River,” Robin whispered to Rebecca.

“‘Cold-blooded, deliberate murder,’” Kelly continued, still mimicking that other voice. The menace in it made Rebecca shudder.

“Kelly, stop that,” Neal said. He was leaning against the wall, wrapped in a quilt, his hair wild. He looked pale. “You’re upsetting people.”

Kelly turned to look at her brother, then shrugged. “Maybe people need upsetting.” She cast a dark look at her mother. “You should face facts, Ma.”

“It’s my job to do the worrying,” Kat Loving said. “Not any of yours.”

“Seems it’s our worry, too,” Kelly said, “if we have to move on from Janestown because of it.”

“Or if Pa can’t find us because we’re running,” Neal said.

“Can’t have no ranch while we’re being chased by bounty hunters,” Robin added.

“Mrs. Loving,” Rebecca insisted, wishing to return to the most important point, “is this true? There is a bounty for you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know about it, Mrs. Blithely. Everyone else seems to.” She shot a glare at her children.

Kelly returned it in equal measure. “Ain’t never told no one but Doc Blithely, and that just now.”

“You told Neal,” Robin pointed out.

“Neal’s different,” Kelly scowled. “And Doc Blithely ought to know anyway. She’s _Doc_ _Blithely_ ,” she explained, as if the matter was self-evident.

“Children,” Mrs. Loving said reprovingly, then turned to Rebecca. “That rancher John Slotter killed—” She casually touched her sternum, and Rebecca nodded: the man that Slotter had made her help remove the heart from. “Sybil and Fiona Briggs said he was here hunting me.”

Rebecca started in shock. “I did not know. We did not converse.” The implications horrified her: how much more damage the man might have caused, beyond what he already had, if he had been left to run unchecked. She could never feel better about how he had died, but Rebecca regretted his death less, knowing that he had intended to hang Kat Loving, had he lived.

And if one bounty hunter had come so close to finding Kat Loving, a second might find her in truth.

“And you,” Kat Loving said to her children, “I want you to leave this be. I don’t want any of you caught up in this.”

“Can’t help but be caught up in it,” Neal pointed out, entirely reasonably. “You’re our ma.”

“It’s a different name,” Rebecca pointed out.

Mrs. Loving looked at her.

“Katherie Dumont,” Rebecca said, putting its French accent on it. “The bounty, it’s for a different name.” Mrs. Loving shook her head, but Rebecca pushed on, the idea firm in her mind. “We only must convince them that Katherie Dumont is dead, and Katherine Loving can continue to be sheriff of Janestown.”

“My body is worth five hundred dollars, Mrs. Blithely. No one gonna stop looking for Katherie Dumont just because she’s dead. Only thing they will think is that bounty just got a whole lot easier to collect.”

“But that is no impediment, Mrs. Loving! I can supply a body. We would still need someone willing to swear that it is you and then transport it,” she said, her mind running ahead on to the details, “but a body, I can supply that.”

“The marshal would be willing, I bet,” Kelly volunteered. “He’s sweet on Ma.” Robin nodded eagerly.

“The marshal is in Washington,” Mrs. Loving said, cutting a fierce look at her daughters. “And doesn’t need dragged into this any more than he already is.”

“But he’ll be back in the spring. And I could be ready no earlier, in any case. I will need time to prepare. I will need to procure an appropriate body, which I may then need to alter to—”

“No,” Mrs. Loving interrupted her flatly, “I’m not going to have some soul robbed of their final rest for my sake.”

Rebecca frowned. “I resurrect bodies so that I can study them, so that science is advanced and other lives are saved. It is a net—”

“There is no _science_ to be gained in this,” Mrs. Loving said, interrupting her again.

“No,” Rebecca snapped. “You must listen to me!” Mrs. Loving was one of the very few who reliably allowed Rebecca to say her entire mind, and yet she had just interrupted Rebecca _twice._ “You must _listen.”_ She thumped the table, her palm flat, for emphasis.

Mrs. Loving grimaced, then deliberately sat back in her chair. She nodded. “I am listening, Mrs. Blithely.”

Rebecca nodded in return. “I resurrect bodies so that I might study them, so that I can learn my art. So that I can apply the things that I learn from them and thereby save other people’s lives. It is permissible for me to exhume bodies, because it results in a net societal _good_. You, likewise, save lives, Mrs. Loving. If I were to use a body to free you of this bounty, that also would be a societal good, and therefore permissible.”

Mrs. Loving waited a long moment, and at Rebecca’s nod that she had finished, she answered, “Janestown can get a new sheriff without disturbing someone’s rest for it.”

“But this is not about who is sheriff! We could perhaps manage with a different sheriff. But you! Anywhere you go, the hunters will follow you!”

“Following does not mean finding. And if need be, I can defend myself.”

“But the risk is not necessary!” When Mrs. Loving did not immediately understand, Rebecca attempted to clarify, “You are necessary, and the risk is not!” She could barely look at Mrs. Loving. She left her seat and took Mrs. Loving’s hand, then both hands, mimicking the way Mrs. Loving had taken her hands on the porch: it was a gesture that had meaning for Mrs. Loving, and perhaps would help her understand the importance of this. She held them tightly, willing her to understand. “You are necessary, Mrs. Loving. You are necessary to _them,”_ Rebecca nodded to Neal, Robin, and Kelly, “and you are necessary to _me.”_

Mrs. Loving blinked up at her.

Rebecca needed to stoop to hold Mrs. Loving’s hands properly, and so she went to her knees beside Mrs. Loving’s chair, where that they would be more of a height. She readjusted her grip. “You are necessary, and the risk is not,” she repeated. “I can fix this, this is within my realm of specialty.”

Mrs. Loving returned Rebecca’s grip, but shook her head again. “This is my business, Mrs. Blithely. I will not have you put at risk because of things I’ve done. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“But I will _be_ involved. Anyone who values you cannot help but be involved. No one will stand by and let this happen. That is not something you can ask of us.”

All three of Mrs. Loving’s children nodded their agreement with that. “Marshall missed the cave-in, because he was heading off bounty hunters,” Robin volunteered.

Mrs. Loving, obviously disquieted by the point, glanced at Robin.

Relentlessly, Neal pushed it home. “Rescue might have gone faster,” he added quietly, “with another body to help. More might have lived.”

Rebecca _felt_ Mrs. Loving flinch. Mrs. Loving tried to pull away, but Rebecca held on tight, determined that Mrs. Loving understand this.

“This is a grossly inefficient method of solving this, one hunter at a time. If you wish to minimize other people’s involvement, this is exactly the wrong approach.” When Mrs. Loving was unmoved, Rebecca continued, “That hunter who came for you, he harmed other people. Mrs. Briggs, and also Mr. Finn. The next one might do worse.”

“Then I will leave town,” Mrs. Loving said, her face set and cold. There was a chorus of dismay from her children; Rebecca shook her head furiously in disagreement. Mrs. Loving took her hands back and stood; Rebecca stood with her. “I will leave town, and then there will be no one hurt, and no one distracted from things they ought to be doing.” She tried to step away, turning her back to end the conversation.

Rebecca followed her. “And they will continue to come to Janestown, tracking you! Leaving Janestown will not remove it from the path of harm!” Rebecca saw Mrs. Loving falter. “We must stop this by going directly to the source. Not with guns, but a scalpel. That is the most efficient way. The most _effective_ way.” Mrs. Loving hesitated, and so Rebecca reached for her hands again, turning her back around. _“Mrs. Loving,”_ she pleaded.

Mrs. Loving looked at Rebecca’s face for a long time, then looked at each of her children in turn. She turned back to Rebecca.

“Kat,” Mrs. Loving finally said. Rebecca shook her head, not understanding. Mrs. Loving dropped her eyes to their joined hands; her thumbs swept once over Rebecca’s fingers before she looked back up. “The number of times you’ve saved me and my children now… You should call me Kat.”

Rebecca was still waiting for a sign of agreement from Mrs. Loving. “Kat,” she acknowledged with a bewildered nod, hoping to urge Mrs. Loving— _Kat_ —along. “And I am Rebecca,” she said, because it seemed expected.

Kat continued to look at Rebecca. Her lips twitched. “Well, if it’s _efficient_ ,” she finally said, and Rebecca felt her lungs swell with a great breath of relief. Neal and Kelly whooped, and Robin’s excited laughter rang out over the top.

“Excellent,” Rebecca said, with a broad smile. “Now, there is much to do.”

Mrs. Loving abruptly needed both hands to hug her children, so Rebecca stepped away to return to her own chair.

Robin snagged her hand as she passed. After some encouraging tugging on Robin’s part, Rebecca consented to join the group hug. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and ended up touching each of the children’s hair, a gesture she had seen their mother perform many times. None of the children seemed to object.

“Thank you, Doc,” Kelly said.

Rebecca nodded. “Of course. It is only right.”

“It hasn’t been done yet,” Kat warned, gradually extricating herself from her children. There was some milling as everyone returned to their chairs. Neal drifted to the side table, quilt still tight around his shoulders, and began poking through the remains of the meal. “But promise me, Rebecca, no Indian women. Too many have no one left to mourn or bury them, and I’ll not take advantage of that.”

Rebecca considered that—her task would be more difficult, but not impossible—and nodded. “That can be done,” she agreed. There were so many things that needed to be done. Her hand itched for her pencil.

“We can begin in the morning, then,” Kat said, and Rebecca looked up. Kat’s expression was expectant, but also… hopeful? She was waiting on Rebecca for something. Kelly and Robin were looking at her expectantly, too. Rebecca glanced around for clues: her gaze caught on the ribbons and pom-poms hung on the center post. _Kissing Day._

“Yes,” she agreed uncertainly, glancing around the table. Her planning would go much better, much more _satisfyingly_ , when she had her pencil in her hand. Which she did not have here. Until then, she could put the planning to collect Kat’s bounty for her to the side. She had lamp-oil enough for the night, and in the morning she would still be ready to begin. “Yes,” she said again, more decisively, and reached for something that might engross her until it was time to plan. She leaned across the table toward Kat. “You must tell me another story. The grammar, it is not as I had expected it.”

Kat laughed at that, free and open. “Very well. I can do that. _Kayawash ilaway trois les noor,”_ she began, and Rebecca closed her eyes, listening intently. _“Le papa, la maman, aykwa le ptsi bebe.”_

Rebecca’s eyes snapped open. “Oh! I know this one!” She frowned, reconsidering what she had heard. “Do I know this one?” she asked Kat.

Kat smiled. The next sentence had the mama bear doing something to porridge, and Rebecca was certain. “I _do_ know this one! _Kiishisha_ , to cook?”

Kat nodded, then turned to Kelly and Robin. “You know this story, too.”

“It’s a _children’s_ story,” Kelly said disdainfully, and turned to Robin. “C’mon, they’ll be at this forever,” she said, with a pointed look.

“May we be excused?” Robin asked, and her mother nodded permission. Kelly got up and went over to Neal, who had just put a _boulette_ in his mouth, and whispered something in his ear. Neal glanced at Rebecca and Kat and nodded. He hastily grabbed some more food, before he let Kelly and Robin pull him away.

Kat watched them with an affectionate smile, then turned back to Rebecca. “ _Le oatmeal kii-kiishisham…”_

Rebecca shut her eyes again to better listen to Kat’s voice.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Ninêhywawân_ = I speak (First Nations) Cree.
> 
> For Metis cultural background, I drew heavily on _Metis Legacy, Vol II_ , edited by Lawrence J. Barkwell, Leah M. Dorion, and Audreen Hourie, published by the Gabriel Dumont Institute, 2006. Both stories I have Kat tell are collected there:
> 
>   * "Maskwa / Why Bears Have No Tail," told by May Desjarlais 
>   * "Trwaw lee noor / The Three Bears," told by Julius Grant.
> 

> 
> Because the two stories were collected with different orthographies, I took the liberty of re-transcribing them both, using the orthography of [an online Michif dictionary published by the Gabriel Dumont Institute](http://www.metismuseum.ca/michif_dictionary.php). Furthermore, words whose pronunciations are very close to their French cognates, I re-wrote as if they were French (which is how Rebecca might be expected to hear them). I myself do not speak Michif; I apologize for any errors I may have introduced, and any dialectal oddities I may have inadvertently given Kat. 
> 
> In this matter and in others, I am happy to take input or correction on any errors I have made.


End file.
